


Broken

by DKNC



Series: Would That You Were Mine [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Family Relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3567368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half a year has passed since Catelyn nearly died giving birth to Bran while Brandon returned to Winterfell with his bastard son after the death of his mistress. During that time Ned, Catelyn, and Brandon have all tried to move forward as best they can while holding on to their various secrets, fears, anger, and hurts. </p><p>This fifth installment in the "Would That You Were Mine" series is told from Ned's POV as he begins to wonder how many betrayals anyone can both commit and suffer without becoming irrevocably broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

Ned Stark leaned against a fence watching as his goodsister and niece trotted in easy circles around an enclosed area of the yard on Catelyn’s favorite mare. _My goodsister,_ he thought stubbornly. Applying that title to her in his mind was his latest attempt at preventing himself from thinking of her in all the ways he should not. It worked no better than any other method he had tried.

 _Gods, she is beautiful,_ he thought. She positively glowed in the early morning sunlight, radiantly healthy now that six moons had passed since Bran’s difficult birth. Ned tried hard not to think about that day. It was too painful to recall almost losing her. It was even more painful to recall how he’d held her against him as she brought his brother’s son into the world. Maester Luwin had cleared her to ride as much as she wished more than a moon ago, but this morning she seemed to have restricted herself to the yard on Sansa’s account. Not quite five, the little girl was still a bit apprehensive around animals as big as horses although she loved her own filly dearly. The chestnut filly was a beautiful animal with a sweet disposition, and Hullen had declared her one of the easiest horses he’d ever broken to the saddle, but at barely three years old, the filly wasn’t yet ready for Sansa to ride. Instead the little girl would feed her treats, comb her mane, and sing to her while held in Ned’s arms. Or occasionally Brandon’s. Sansa refused to ride alone or with anyone but her mother as the one time she’d been on a horse with her father, he’d decided to take her for a gallop and she’d been terrified. 

“She’s doing better.”

Hullen’s voice caused Ned to turn around. “Lady Stark?” Ned asked him in some puzzlement.

Hullen laughed. “No, my lord! Lady Stark rode like she’d never been away from the horses the day the maester first allowed her back! I mean little Lady Sansa. She’s getting less afraid of them. I don’t know that she’ll ever be the horsewoman her mother is, but she’ll do fine given enough time.”

Ned nodded and turned back to look at Catelyn and her daughter again. In some ways, Sansa was Cat in miniature—her appearance certainly, and her impossibly perfect courtesies at such a young age. But she did not share what Brandon called her mother’s stubbornness. Brandon was pleased by that. Ned wasn’t so sure. He rather hoped Sansa would be a little bit less eager to please people as she grew older. He watched Cat bend her head down to whisper something to the little girl seated in front of her, and Ned could hear his niece’s laughter ring out through the morning air. The two of them were a lovely sight with their copper hair glinting in the sun.

“She ought to be teaching her sidesaddle.” He hadn’t heard Brandon’s approach, and Ned turned to see his brother frowning at his wife and daughter.

“She will,” Ned said. “Once Sansa’s less afraid of falling off. She says that a side saddle feels far less secure, and she wants the child to be very comfortable just being on a horse before attempting that. She’s only four, Brandon.”

“She’ll be five soon enough. Catelyn coddles her. Both the boys could ride in the yard on their own by five.”

“On old, slow horses,” Ned said with a grin. “And not sidesaddle.” He looked back out at Catelyn, trying unsuccessfully not to think about how lovely the curve of her legs looked in her riding breeches. “Besides, for riding any distance, Lady Catelyn prefers riding astride herself.”

Brandon frowned and made a sort of dismissive sound in his throat. “Good to know she can still spread her legs at all, I suppose.”

Ned’s blood turned to ice as he watched Hullen’s face go red with some mixture of embarrassment and anger on Catelyn’s behalf. The master of horse quickly excused himself to tend to something in the stables, leaving Brandon still frowning at his wife and daughter, completely unaware of Ned’s or Hullen’s reaction to his disgusting comment about his wife.

“You should not speak so of your lady wife,” he said coldly after Hullen had moved away. He held his fists clenched tightly to his side, willing himself not to hit his brother. _She is his wife, not mine. I have no right._

“She should not bar her door to her husband,” Brandon said without looking at him. “Young Brandon is six moons old. You know there is no reason I should not bed her. Were I another man, I would have insisted upon it already.”

“Were you another man, she might not have cause to refuse you,” Ned said quietly.

“Gods damn you, Ned!” Brandon said angrily, turning toward him. He didn’t shout or speak loudly enough for anyone else to hear him, though. “I’ve apologized for all that happened, but Rickard is my son, and he’ll be here as long as I say he should whether the woman lets her cunt shrivel up over it or not. And if I wind up with another bastard, it’ll likely be on one of the local brothel whores, and she’ll have only herself to blame.”

Brandon returned to watching Catelyn and Sansa while Ned quietly seethed. Simply letting his brother say such things unanswered felt a betrayal of the woman he loved. Yet the very fact that he loved her was a betrayal of Brandon, so he remained silent, having already said more than he should. He and his brother had mostly gotten on well enough with each other since Brandon’s return from Barrow Hall with his bastard son. Brandon had not left Winterfell except for one brief trip to Torrhen's Square and an even briefer visit to Castle Cerwyn in all the time he’d been back. Excepting of course, the nights he spent outside the castle walls at some brothel or another. He’d been discreet at first, like he’d always been. But as it became clear that the frost between him and Catelyn was not easing, he’d become less considerate of her honor or his own, and as Brandon became more dismissive and disrespectful of his wife, Ned found himself conflicted in his own feelings. While he could gladly pummel Brandon into the ground for shaming Catelyn, he found himself guiltily happy about the fact that he no longer shared her bed.

“I’m thinking of breeding her again this year.”

Brandon’s voice shook him from his reverie. “Seven hells, Brandon!” he shouted loudly enough that Catelyn heard and turned toward them with an alarmed look on her face.

“River Blossom, Ned,” his brother said dryly, smirking. “I’d like to breed that mare again. We’ve gotten two very good foals out of her.” He shook his head. “Even I have limits on how discourteously I speak.”

“What’s wrong, my lord?” Catelyn had guided the mare in question over to them. Her query was addressed to Brandon, but she looked toward Ned, her sky blue eyes full of concern.

“Nothing, my lady,” Brandon said evenly. “A misunderstanding is all. I fear my brother has a tendency to think the worst of me.”

Catelyn’s expression did not change, and her eyes did not leave Ned’s.

“A misunderstanding,” Ned agreed softly. “My apologies for shouting, my lady.”

“Will you hold me up to comb Sweetling, Uncle Ned? She was rolling and her mane is all messy.” Sansa’s sweet voice drew the attention of all three adults to her, and she smiled widely. If she noticed any tension among her parents and uncle, she at least seemed confident it was nothing to do with her.

“Are you quite finished riding then, sweetling?” Catelyn asked, smiling at her daughter.

Her words caused Ned to smile. Sansa had taken to calling her filly by her mother’s frequent term of endearment for the children as soon as she could pronounce the word, and it had quickly become the horse’s name.

Sansa nodded. “Uncle Ned is here, and I want to comb Sweetling,” she said definitely.

“If your uncle doesn’t mind . . .” Catelyn started.

“I will take her,” Brandon said somewhat sharply. “Come along, Sansa.” He reached up to take her down from the horse.

Ned didn’t think he imagined the tiny frown that briefly crossed Sansa’s face before she smiled and leaned into her father’s arms, putting her own arms around his neck as he lifted her. _It shouldn’t be that way. Brandon is her father._

As he watched Brandon carry Sansa toward the stables, telling her how fine she had looked upon River Blossom, Ned was aware of Catelyn dismounting and coming to stand beside him.

“What was all that about, Ned?” she asked quietly.

“Nothing. It was a misunderstanding, my lady. Truly.” He kept his gaze toward Brandon and Sansa.

“He said something unkind about me.”

Ned’s eyes turned sharply toward hers at that.

“Don’t deny it, Ned. Nothing else puts that expression on your face.”

He sighed heavily. “Thank the gods Brandon does not read my face as well as you do.”

“Brandon only sees what he wishes to see.” She looked in the direction her husband had gone. “He only took her to spare himself my disapproval,” she said bitterly.

Ned was grateful she had seemingly dropped the topic of Brandon’s possible insults of her, but he felt compelled to defend his brother on this one point. “He loves her, Cat,” he said softly. Her name felt both right and wrong on his lips. She was ever Cat to him, but he almost never allowed himself to speak it aloud. Here, they stood in plain sight of any number of people, but not close enough to anyone to be heard. Such situations were the only times they could speak even close to freely.

“I know he loves her,” Catelyn acknowledged. “He loves all the children. But he has no patience for Sansa’s desire to treat the filly as a pet to be pampered and prettied, and you know it.” She sighed. “I fear she will never be the horsewoman he wishes her to be. Riding is something she does because she is expected to learn, and she is an obedient child. It isn’t something she loves.” She smiled at him. “Arya, on the other hand . . .”

Ned’s chest constricted as it always did when he and Catelyn spoke of the daughter they could never acknowledge they shared. “Arya is only two,” he said.

“And fearless. She adores the horses, Ned. Poor Hullen’s beside himself every time she’s in the stables, fearful she’ll get herself trampled underfoot as she tries to get closer to the horses than is safe.”

Ned smiled. “Brandon told me he wants to breed River Blossom again. Mayhap he will make this foal Arya’s as he made the last Sansa’s.”

“Training Sweetling specifically for Sansa was your suggestion. He won’t think of it if you don’t mention it.” She paused as she obviously saw the shadow that crossed his face. “Oh, Ned,” she said sadly. “It is no more than you would do for any of the children. No more than you have done. Brandon would find it stranger if you did not care for your second niece as well as you do your first.”

He heard the catch in her voice as she referred to his daughter as his niece. He tried hard to think of her as such but only rarely succeeded. It did help that he loved his niece and nephews as dearly as if they were his own, but the simple fact that Arya truly was his own—his and Catelyn’s—that she existed because they had allowed themselves to love each other one time—sometimes overwhelmed him to the point that feared he could not possibly keep the knowledge hidden. Those were some of the times he thought he had been wrong to stay.

He feared he’d been wrong to stay every time he saw his own pain reflected in Catelyn’s eyes as well. They’d grown accustomed to being careful of each other, to avoid touching in even the most casual of ways except when courtesy forced him to offer his arm. They still could make each other smile, and most days he believed that the help he gave her, the time he spent with the children, and even the help he gave to Brandon were more than worth the ache that not touching her always caused him. Most days. 

And of course, they shared immense joy in the children. All the children save one, of course. Catelyn wouldn’t even look at little Rickard Snow for all that her son Bran slept best when the bastard boy shared his cot. Looking at the two infants put Ned and everyone else at Winterfell in mind of Robb and Jon in terms of their closeness and their appearance. Bran looked very much like his elder brother, and Rickard looked as if he could easily be Jon’s brother. The similarities ended there, however. While Bran was as happy a babe as Robb had been, he wasn’t nearly as loud. He was easily soothed and content to be held or sit upon the floor and babble and coo at whomever passed by. And Rickard had none of Jon’s silent solemnity. He was Brandon reborn—loud and demanding, but with a smile that could melt the hardest of hearts, and determined to crawl even though he’d not seen quite seven moons yet. Ned loved them both fiercely. They were his blood. But Cat would never open her heart to Rickard as she had to Jon. She didn’t see a babe without a mother. She saw a bastard with her husband’s face and a threat to all her own children. She saw the Ryswells and the insinuations they’d made about her and their plots to make Rickard more than Brandon’s bastard. He saw how it ate at her, this resentment of the child Brandon had gotten on Barbrey Ryswell, and he didn’t know what to do for her. 

He’d tried to speak of it to her once. She’d been in the nursery with Arya and Bran, and he’d come in with Rickard whom he’d taken from the wetnurse after he’d been fed. Brandon was as attached to the boy as he was to any of his trueborn children, which was to say he loved him, but he wasn’t a man to put a babe to sleep. So, Ned frequently did just as he’d done for Jon simply so the boy would have someone of his blood to care for him in small ways. 

“Is he asleep?” Catelyn had asked when he’d entered the nursery. “Put him down then,” she’d said at his nod.

“I can hold him a bit.”

“I thought you might like to hold your daughter while you have the chance,” she’d hissed at him.

“Cat . . .”

“No one is here to hear us,” she’d said. “But if you’d rather hold your brother’s bastard, so be it.”

The venom in her voice had stunned him. “Arya is here to hear us,” he’d said softly. She’d just had her second name day then and she was pushing some wheeled toy about the floor on her hands and knees as Catelyn rocked Bran, apparently having just finished feeding him. “We must not forget she grows older daily.” He’d swallowed hard. “And Rickard is my nephew, too. He is my blood. And he is blameless in all of this, Cat.”

She’d looked daggers at him then as if for him to speak so was a betrayal of her. And a betrayal of the child he couldn’t claim. 

“Well,” she’d said after a moment in a voice of exaggerated calm. “At least you have Jon. Bastard or no, at least he is a child of your body whom you can hold up to the world as your own.” A single tear had escaped her eye then, and he had forgiven her the bitter words toward his blameless nephew. He’d forgive her anything for he loved her and he knew her pain. He’d almost told her the truth that night, wanting her to know that Arya was the only child of his body, that she was irreplaceable in his heart just like her mother. But that secret carried nothing but danger, and it wouldn’t change anything between them. Or change anything about who Rickard was to either of them.

“Ned? Are you all right?”

Her voice called him back from troubling memories to the present. He tried to smile at her. “I am well enough, my lady. And I will speak to Brandon before he breeds your mare. If we are thinking of a horse for Arya, I’d want her bred to a stallion chosen for good temperament rather than great size or speed.”

She looked at him carefully, and he knew that she was well aware he remained troubled. She bit her lip as if to keep from saying something, and then nodded. “Warrior is Sweetling’s sire. He’s a very sweet horse.”

“Aye, he is.” Ned’s smile was genuine at the thought of the horse named by a young Benjen to be his warhorse one day. Only as the horse grew he proved himself to be an excellent, biddable mount for long rides, but lacking in any aggression or desire to run at great speeds or compete at anything really. Brandon had teased their little brother mercilessly, declaring that he should have named the beast Septon instead. “I’ll suggest him.”

She sighed. “I should take River Blossom back to her stall. It’s a glorious day, and I would love to take her out for a real run, but the party from the Karhold is supposed to arrive today, and I have to make certain all is in readiness.”

Ned groaned.

“Oh, Ned,” she laughed. “You didn’t forget, did you?”

“I think I was trying to. I don’t know if I’m up to a feast, my lady.”

She bit her lip again. “I need you there tonight, Ned. Things have not been . . . easy . . . between Brandon and myself. You know this.”

He nodded, feeling that any comment he might make upon Catelyn’s marriage was inappropriate.

“I . . . I haven’t forgiven him,” she whispered. “I’ve tried, Ned. I swear I have. I’ve prayed about it, but . . .” She shook her head. “Every time I see that boy. People look at him and they see . . .”

“A bastard,” Ned said quickly. Her normally unbreakable resolve was crumbling right in front of him. “A bastard, Cat. A babe that should never have been born, but that Brandon is trying to do right by.”

She shook her head again, more slowly. “No,” she whispered. “They see a Stark.” She paused only a moment. “I’ve told him the boy is to be kept in the nursery however long the Karstark party is here. I’ll not have them watch Brandon bouncing that child on his knee, smiling down at him while Barbrey’s bastard grins back up at him with the very same smile. I won’t have it.”

“I understand, my lady,” Ned said softly. “But would you have Jon kept locked away as well?”

Her face softened immediately. “Of course not! Jon is . . . it’s different!”

“It isn’t, my lady. They are both bastards. If one has no place at the table, then the other . . .”

“A place at the table! My gods, Ned, the child is an infant. He cannot sit at a table. Bran will only be at the feast long enough to be presented to them before he’s sent back to my room with his nursemaid. I don’t propose we present Jon to Lord Karstark, but . . .”

“He cannot sit with Robb, my lady. You know this to be true. Unless you wish to set a precedent . . .”

“No,” she said after a moment. “He can sit with some of our men. After we’ve eaten, Robb can join him if he wishes.”

“Robb’s place is at his father’s table.”

“They’re children, Ned! Robb knows his place well enough, and he’ll remain there until I allow him to go down. And I will allow it. You tell Jon that, won’t you?”

He watched her struggle with her emotions—and found himself cursing that the impossible situation they all found themselves in extended now to complicating seating arrangements at a godsforsaken meal he’d just as soon not attend. “I will tell him, my lady. And I will be there wherever you need me to be.”

“Thank you, Ned,” she said. Her voice only shook a little bit when she added, “And I will be wherever Brandon needs me to be.”

Ned didn’t see her at the midday meal or anywhere else before the Karstarks arrived. He did spend some time with Brandon in his solar discussing hunting rights on land disputed between the Karhold and the Dreadfort. Brandon knew Rickard Karstark would bring it up, and he wanted to practice his responses on Ned. Brandon seemed more keyed up about this visit than Ned had seen him in a long time. He exuded a sort of nervous energy which caused Ned to ask him if anything bothered him.

“I’m the Lord of Winterfell, little brother,” Brandon said with equal parts bravado and anxiety. “I need my bannermen to know it, and this is simply one step in making certain they do.”

“They know who you are, Brandon. Never doubt it,” Ned assured him.

“Aye, but I’ll have them know I’m the man they want in this seat. I’ll not have them listening to damn Rodrik Ryswell. And Cat better damn well play her part. She’s the Lady of Winterfell, and I need her to leave no doubts about that either.”

“Do you doubt that her ability to do that?” Ned asked coldly.

“No.”

“You doubt her intentions then? You think your lady wife would willfully sabotage you?” He stared at his brother who glared back at him for a brief moment before lowering his eyes.

“No,” Brandon admitted. “Catelyn was born to this. She will not fail me tonight. Not in the Great Hall anyway. I’ve half a mind to escort her to her chambers after this meal and remind her how well she might enjoy performing her other duties as my wife once more.”

Ned suppressed the urge to hit Brandon. _She is his wife,_ he reminded himself for well over the millionth time. “She has been shamed by all of this, Brandon,” he said very carefully. “Do not be . . . impatient with her.”

“Impatient?” Brandon asked. “Gods, man. I’ve been the very soul of patience in this. But I’m not you, Ned! I may be a Stark of the North, but it’s hot blood that makes my cock stiff, not ice. I’m not a man to force myself on a woman, but I can’t live a septon while I wait for my own bloody wife to decide I’ve suffered enough for her to open her legs again and let me put my cock in her poor, wronged cunt. She’s my wife, dammit, and I need her to remember it.”

“She remembers it, Brandon. She remembers that every day of her life,” Ned said quietly between gritted teeth. “She remembers it better than you.”

“Don’t judge me, little brother.”

“I don’t get to judge you. You’re the Lord of Winterfell.”

“Dammit, Ned.” Brandon’s own fists curled up then and he began pacing the solar like a restless animal. “I’m going for a ride. I’ll be back soon enough.”

 _Once you’ve eased your agitation with some brothel girl, no doubt,_ Ned thought bitterly. He was half tempted to goad his brother into hitting him already, as a good fight might serve the same purpose. Robert’s frequent words came to his mind. _Fighting and fucking, Ned! That’s what a man needs to feel most alive. If you don’t have the answers to what ails you my friend, find a man to fight or woman to fuck._ Robert had normally been drunk when doling out this advice, but the gods knew he lived by it, and Ned realized that to a lesser extent, his brother did as well. Yet, as much as he’d like to spare Catelyn having to lie for her husband should he not be returned by the time the Karstarks arrived, he thought that his and Brandon showing up at the feast with black eyes and bruises would be far more difficult to explain.

“You’d better be quick about it,” he muttered, but as he turned to leave the solar the horns blew to announce a party approaching the Kingsgate.

“Damnation!” Brandon swore. Then he twisted his face into an ugly facsimile of a smile. “Let’s go greet our guests!” he said with mock enthusiasm.

By the time the household was assembled in the courtyard to meet Lord and Lady Karstark and their four children, however, Brandon’s charm was firmly in place. He smiled at his children and praised Catelyn for bringing little Bran out with them for the day was still warm and the babe was awake and cheerful enough. Ned chose to stand in the row behind Brandon and his family, between Jon and Theon Greyjoy. If this little gathering was about confirming Brandon’s strength as Lord of Winterfell, then Ned would make it clear that not even he put himself on equal standing with Brandon and his trueborn heirs. He hated this sort of political gaming, but he could play if he must.

Karstark was a rather dour man, but courteous enough. His wife was a plain woman who said very little, but cooed over Bran when she was presented to Catelyn. All of the Karstark sons were older than Robb and Jon. Ned thought the younger two boys might be Theon’s age or just a bit younger. The lone Karstark daughter appeared to be older than Sansa, but not quite so old as Robb and Jon. Ned was very proud of Robb as he stood there beside his father. He was just shy of eight years old but stood as tall as he could and greeted the guests with great courtesy. Pretty little Sansa did bounce a bit in her excitement but still outshone the older Karstark girl in her own courtesies. Arya, of course, didn’t last long at all on her own two feet. Brandon swooped her up into his arms with a laugh when she tried to make a break toward the Karstark party’s horses and introduced her gleefully as his little wild wolf when she howled in protest. Beside Ned, Jon suddenly flinched and cried out which shocked Ned until he realize that his own hand which had been resting on Jon’s shoulder had squeezed it much too tightly as he watched Brandon with Arya.

Ned patted Jon’s shoulder reassuringly and the boy looked up at him in some puzzlement, but went back to being silent and still. _As befits a bastard,_ Ned thought somewhat bitterly. Jon hadn’t been pleased when he learned he could not sit beside Robb at the table tonight as was his habit. But he hadn’t seemed surprised, either, and somehow that made Ned feel even worse. He’d wanted to save Lyanna’s son, to give him a home and a life and happiness, but when he’d seen his eyes darken first with disappointment and then with resignation as he’d discussed tonight’s feast with him—when he thought of Rickard hidden away in shame in the Great Keep—he wondered what he’d truly done the day he’d named Jon his own.

He didn’t have time to ponder it as Brandon was now calling him forward to meet Lord Karstark. He made his expression as pleasant as he could and stepped up to welcome the guests. He never spoke to Catelyn. She was walking to the Great Keep with Arya on her hip and Sansa beside her, accompanying Lady Karstark and her daughter. It took Ned a moment to realize Lady Karstark was now carrying Bran and seeming quite happy to do so. The ever pleasant Bran fussed less about being held by a stranger than Arya did about being carried in a direction opposite the horses.

Brandon stood in a circle of men and boys which included Lord Karstark and his sons. He had his hand on Robb’s shoulder, and it made Ned smile to see the pride on his little nephew’s face. Ned joined them and while Theon Greyjoy also moved into the group beside Robb, Jon hung back. After a few more moments of japing and general pleasantries, Brandon called the steward to show Karstark and his sons to their rooms in the Great Keep and some others to show the men who’d accompanied them to the Guest House. There would be time for everyone to rest and refresh themselves a bit from their journey before the meal.

“I’m going to the stable,” Brandon said after the guests had all dispersed.

“You can’t go _riding_ now, Brandon!” Ned muttered.

“I know that! I just need to be on my own for a bit before I go wash and dress and put myself properly on display.” He smiled at Ned, and Ned saw an apology of sorts in his eyes. “I like the stables because horses don’t talk. I’ll be talking all night.”

Ned grinned. “I’d go to the back stalls where the yearlings and their mothers are. Least likely place to run into men putting up the Karstarks’ horses.”

Brandon nodded, and then turned and nearly ran toward the stables. Ned shook his head and laughed softly.

“Did you see me, Uncle Ned? I was standing right beside Father. Mother said that was my place.”

Ned looked down at the blue eyes looking up at him. “It is your place, Robb. And you did very well. Lord Karstark was very impressed by you, and your father was proud.”

“Do you think so?” Robb asked, sounding a little uncertain. “Do you think Father was truly proud of me?”

“Your father is always proud of you, Robb.” He smiled and ran his hand through his nephew’s auburn curls. “And so am I.”

Robb grinned. “Thank you, Uncle Ned.” Then he bit his lip in a manner reminiscent of his mother and asked, “It’s all right if me and Jon stay together until the feast, isn’t it?”

So Catelyn had spoken to him about the seating arrangements for the feast. “Yes, Robb. Of course, it is.”

“See!” Robb exclaimed, turning to Jon who was standing just behind him. “And Mother promised I could come sit with you once all the food is finished. But we probably won’t want to sit then. We can run around once the dancing starts!” Robb turned back to Ned for confirmation of that.

“No one is required to remain seated once the dancing starts,” he confirmed, trying to sound very serious.

“Told you, Jon! Now come on!”

Jon looked up at Ned. “Can I go with Robb, Father? We were watching Mikken before and we told him we’d come back and see how far he got on the horseshoes he’s making. But I promise I’ll go to my room and get ready soon.”

“Go, Jon. You and Robb have some more fun. I promise to come to the forge and drag you to the Keep to put on your good clothes if you haven’t come in by the time I think you should!”

Jon then grinned as broadly as Robb, grabbed his cousin’s hand, and sprinted off toward the forge with him.

Ned smiled after them as they went and started to head for the Great Keep himself. Realizing that he didn’t truly want to run into any Karstarks and be pulled into socialization before he was forced, he decided his brother had the right idea. He considered the godswood, but decided he might go to the stables himself and take a good look at Catelyn’s mare. If Brandon did indeed plan to breed her soon, Ned wanted to be certain she was healthy. River Blossom had always been in good condition, and the gods knew that Hullen knew his business well, but Cat loved that horse. Ned wanted to be very certain the animal was in peak condition before thinking about breeding her. And it would give him something to think about other than the many disturbing things that had been on his mind through today.

There were more men than usual milling about the stables and certainly more horses. Ned spoke briefly to a few who greeted him, but made his way to River Blossom’s stall with relatively little conversation. The mare nickered hopefully at his approach so he stopped and picked up a small apple from the bin. “Here you are girl,” he said as he ran a hand along her flank. She’d been combed out well after her ride, and Ned found himself wondering if Catelyn had done it herself as she liked to do or if she’d given the task to one of the grooms given all she had to do today. If so, he’d like to compliment the groom who’d put the horse up for her on a job well done. He spent a few more moments on his examination of River Blossom. She certainly seemed sound and hale. Then he moved on down the row of stalls to see if he could ask any of the boys who’d groomed her. He came across two boys he didn’t recognize sitting on a barrel of oats and giggling. 

“What’s funny, boys?” he asked them.

“I wouldn’t go that way, milord,” one of the boys said. “I think one of your stable boys is having a bit of fun, if you know what I mean.”

These two were from the Karhold, Ned realized, probably here to care for their horses. “What do you mean, lad?” he asked as an ugly suspicion began to take hold in his mind. “Are any of our grooms back there?”

“I don’t know if he’s a groom, but from the noises he’s makin’, he ain’t alone,” the same boy replied.

Ned’s throat felt dry. “Are you boys spying?” he said rather severely. “I don’t think Lord Karstark would be pleased to hear it.”

The silent giggler went pale then, but the talkative one said, “Oh no, milord! Spying is lookin’ and we ain’t seen nothin’! But I know what I heard and it ain’t horses.”

At that moment, a deep masculine moan followed by a rather high pitched giggle sounded from further back in the barn, and Ned’s stomach suddenly felt hollow. “Go on boys! It isn’t right to spy by listening either! None of your lord’s horses are stabled here so you’ve no reason to be here. Go on with you!”

The one who hadn’t spoken nearly sprinted out of the stable. The other moved slowly, grinning all the while, but he left. Ned wanted to leave, too. He wanted to be wrong. But he couldn’t risk anyone else discovering what he feared he would find if he continued on to the back and so he went on.

“Oh gods!” he heard Brandon’s voice shout clearly before grunting harshly, and he came round the partition for the last stall to be treated to the sight of his brothers arse as he stood there with his breeches down around his ankles. Someone in skirts was on her knees in front of him and he had his hands in the woman’s hair as he thrust into her mouth and grunted one last time before going still and letting his head fall back as he breathed heavily.

“I would not have believed this of you, Brandon. Not here,” Ned growled.

At the sound of his voice, Brandon whipped around to face him, pulling his cock from the poor girl’s mouth and releasing her hair suddenly causing her to fall back. Brandon simply glared at him, but the girl squeaked, “Lord Eddard!” and tried to wipe Brandon’s seed from her lips with the back of one hand while she covered her exposed breasts with her other.

“You came to spy on me, Ned?” Brandon said in low and somewhat threatening voice.

“I was led here by the laughter of a couple of stable boys who found your activites amusing,” Ned said grimly, and Brandon’s face paled just a bit at that.

“Don’t tell milady, Lord Eddard. Please don’t say anything! I didn’t mean any harm. I swear I only . . .”

“Shut up!” Brandon growled at the girl who began crying. 

Ned looked at her and realized with a start that she was one of Catelyn’s lady’s maids. One of those who’d been in the room assisting during Bran’s birth. “Ava!” he said, and she flinched at the sound of her name.

“Please don’t let her put me out, Lord Stark!” Ava said grabbing at Brandon’s leg. 

Her touch on his bare skin must have caused Brandon to realize his breeches were still around his ankles because he pushed the girl away and bent to pull them up and looked down at the tearful maid. “No one is putting you out. You are in no trouble, do you understand? You are under my protection.”

She nodded. “Yes, milord. Thank you, milord.”

“Now go. I need to speak with my brother. Go and tell no one what has transpired here. Do you understand me?”

She nodded, stood up, and started to push past Ned, but he stopped her by grabbing her arm. “Go out the back way,” he said. “Unless you wish to face the boys who were listening.”

She nodded tearfully and whispered, “Please don’t tell Lady Stark,” one last time before pushing open the back door. 

“Which of stable boys knows I was with her?” Brandon asked when she had gone.

“None as far as I know. These two belonged to Karstark. And they didn’t know it was you. They only heard a man and a woman.”

“They didn’t see me?”

“They said not.”

“Thank the gods,” Brandon sighed, and his posture relaxed for the first time since Ned had entered the stable.

“Thank the gods?” Ned repeated incredulously. “You fuck your wife’s maid in an open stall in Winterfell with the castle full of people including a lord you want to impress, and all you have to say is ‘thank the gods’? Gods damn you for the selfish fool you are, Brandon.”

“I didn’t fuck her,” Brandon protested. “She offered, but I’ll not have any swollen bellies in this castle laid at my feet unless it’s Cat’s.”

At that, Ned couldn’t help himself. He landed a punch in his brother’s gut which dropped Brandon to his knees. “How do you even speak her name right now?”

Brandon took a few wheezing breaths before he could speak again, and then he looked up at Ned. “Do you fancy yourself my wife’s protector, Ned?” He laughed. “Mayhap you’re precisely the man she needs. An ice cold cock for her ice cold cunt.”

“Get up, Brandon. Get up so I can hit you again.”

“You can’t hit the Lord of Winterfell, Ned. One of the few benefits to this bloody title. If you hit me, I can have you killed.” Before Ned could respond to that, the bravado seemed to go out of Brandon, and he suddenly sank down to sit on the floor of the stall. “Fuck me, Ned,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to do. I miss her.”

“Cat?” Ned asked uncertainly.

Brandon shook his head. “Barbrey.” He sounded surprised at his own admission. “I didn’t think I would miss her like this. It isn’t as if she lived here or I saw her every day.” He swallowed. “But it hit me not long ago that this is the longest I’d gone without seeing her—without bedding her—since we came back from Robert’s war. And I’m restless, and I keep thinking I’ll be fine if I just ride to Barrowton and see her, have her in my bed for a fortnight, just a fortnight, I’ll be better. Only she isn’t there. She’s dead.” He said the last two words as if he still found it difficult to believe they were true.

“You have a wife here, Brandon,” Ned said, although the words killed him to say.

“Aye, a wife who hates the sight of me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.” He shook his head at Brandon’s snort of protest. “She doesn’t. She’s angry, and it doesn’t help having Rickard here. But she doesn’t hate you.”

“She doesn’t love me,” Brandon said, sounding almost like a petulant child.

 _No. She loves me. But I can’t have her because she belongs to you._ “You don’t love her, either. What does that have to do with anything? She’s your wife. Be a husband to her. She respected you once, Brandon. Don’t tell me that the two of you don’t care for each other at all because I know that’s a lie. You have four children together.” That pained him to say almost more than he could bear. “Barbrey is gone. Forget her and make what you can of your life here.”

“Forget her? When I look her son every day? Tell me you don’t see Lyanna every time you look at Jon!”

“Brandon, for the gods’ sake, never say that!” Ned hissed at him. He sat down beside him in the stall. “And it isn’t the same thing,” he whispered. “She was our sister.”

“And now she’s our ghost,” Brandon said. “She haunts us through Jon, and you know that’s true. And now Barbrey haunts me through Rickard. I couldn’t save Lyanna, and I killed Barbrey. My wife hates me, and you know my children better than I do. Yet tonight, I will sit in Father’s chair and convince Rickard Karstark that I am Rickard Stark’s son—a man he can depend upon. Gods, Ned. Is it such a terrible thing that for a few brief moments I wanted to forget everything except a pretty girl’s mouth on my cock?”

A part of him felt for his brother. He loved Brandon after all. But his selfishness could ruin them. “Yes, it is terrible, Brandon. Because the cost of such forgetting is too high. What if the stable boys had seen you rather than only heard you? What if the girl talks of this?”

“She won’t.”

“You don’t know that! She had a tryst with the Lord of Winterfell! She’s Catelyn’s maid, Brandon! She knows you haven’t been in her lady’s chambers at night! Do you think the maids don’t speak of that? This girl was with your wife when Bran was born, and every time she tells the tale, her role in your son’s survival gets larger! She will tell this tale eventually—to give herself importance.” Ned shook his head. “You must stop all of this. And you must convince Catelyn to take you back into her bed. Then mayhap when this girl tells her tale, she will not be so readily believed.”

Ned stood then, feeling that if he stayed, he might be sick. Sick at how Brandon betrayed Cat even now with so little thought for her. Sicker still at his own betrayal of her. _How can I encourage him to woo her? How can I push him back into her bed? He doesn’t deserve her!_

Yet even as he thought it, he knew that Catelyn’s safety and the children’s safety depended upon Brandon’s strength. And whether he wished it or not, Brandon would be stronger with Catelyn solidly at his side. And Catelyn and the children had to be safe. Nothing could matter more than that.

“Get up, Brandon,” Ned told him. “Those boys will come back when no one appears at the door. They won’t be able to help their curiosity. We need to be gone before they return or figure out there is another door.”

Brandon rose slowly. “Ow,” he grunted as he got to his feet and touched his belly. “I might have to rethink having you killed, Ned. That hurts a lot.”

“I meant it to.”

Brandon sighed. “I suppose I deserved that. You aren’t going to tell her, are you?”

“What purpose would that serve, Brandon? Other than to hurt her? You’ve hurt her quite enough already. I see no reason why I should hurt her as well.” _I’ve hurt her more than enough already._

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Try actually being the lord you mean to prove to everyone that you are.”

Without another word, Ned walked from the stall, trusting that his brother would follow.

The feast was torture. The food was delicious. Robb and Sansa were adorable. Jon was perfectly behaved. Neither Arya nor Bran were present, both having been presented to the Karstarks upon their arrival, and neither truly old enough for a feast. Brandon was charming. He gently deflected Lord Karstark’s hints about betrothing Robb to his daughter without ever telling the man yes or no, and managed to convince the man that he was completely sympathetic with his position in the hunting rights dispute long before the final course was served.

Catelyn was beautiful. Breathtaking even. She was so lovely Ned could scarcely stand to look at her, and he thanked the gods they were not seated close together. Lord Karstark was seated to Brandon’s right with his wife next to him and Ned next to her. Catelyn was at Brandon’s left with Robb to her other side and little Sansa beside her brother.

Lady Karstark seemed a bit disappointed in Ned’s lack of conversation, but he truly didn’t have the energy to do any better. It was a triumph of a dinner in almost every way, but for Ned, it was torture.

Brandon was nearly as solicitous of Catelyn as he was Lord Karstark, and Ned watched from the other end of the table as he refilled her wine glass more than once and she drank far more than her usual. Brandon even leaned over to press a brief kiss to her cheek on at least two occasions that Ned saw, and she did not shy away. They were not the embarrassingly passionate kisses he would give her at the table during such celebrations in days gone by—the kisses that had caused her cheeks to flame red with shame—but it was certainly more affection than he’d shown her since well before Bran’s birth.

She didn’t look at Ned. Not once. After all but begging him to be there for her, she never gave him a glance. He tried not to watch her, looking instead at the children, but to see Robb and Sansa meant looking right past her, and to watch Jon meant to see him alone in the midst of men who were not his family. He was tempted to drink more ale or wine himself, but as he watched Brandon and Catelyn continue to have more poured into their glasses, he felt he should remain clear headed.

“Uncle Ned?” 

He looked down to see a very sleepy-appearing tiny Catelyn blinking up at him.

“What is it, Sansa?”

“When do we dance?”

He smiled and pulled her into his lap. “We haven’t even had dessert yet, sweetling.”

She yawned. “Okay,” she said and laid her head on his shoulder. 

Catelyn did look at him then, but only to ask wordlessly if she should come and get her daughter. Ned smiled and put an arm around the child to indicate she was fine where she was. Brandon finally noticed her missing from her chair when the desserts were served, and Catelyn pointed toward Ned. 

“Aw, don’t tell me she’s asleep!” Brandon exclaimed. “There’s molasses cake. Her favorite!”

 _No,_ Ned thought. _She prefers lemon cake._ He didn’t say anything because Sansa was sleeping too soundly to care about any desserts or even dancing. 

“I should take her to bed, my lord,” he heard Catelyn say to Brandon as she rose from her chair.

“You will come right back?” Brandon said, grasping her hand and looking at her as if she were the only woman he ever looked at. The hypocrisy of that look made Ned feel as if he couldn’t breathe.

“If she remains asleep, my lord,” Catelyn replied lightly. “If she wakes, I may have to sit with her a bit, and I may feed Bran.”

“Cat . . .”

“Because if I feed him now, then when I do return, I can stay as long as you wish,” she said with a smile.

Brandon grinned and pulled her down to kiss her quickly upon the lips to Lady Karstark’s amusement, Ned noted. 

“They’re very sweet, aren’t they?” she leaned over to say to him. “Such a nice looking couple as well!”

“I can take her, Ned.”

Ned looked up to see that Catelyn was now standing on his other side. He shook his head. “She’s sleeping soundly, my lady. Let me carry her, and we won’t risk waking her until we’re in her room.”

“Oh, thank you!” Catelyn said with more gratitude than he thought warranted for the gesture. She knew he didn’t particularly enjoy dancing which would be starting any moment. He turned quickly to give Jon a silent admonishment to behave and saw his dark head now leaning close to a bright auburn one as Robb must have run down to join him when his mother stood up, and they were whispering about something that caused both of them to laugh.

Catelyn followed his eyes. “They are both much happier now,” she said with a smile. “Although I fear they’ll wear out before too long, and you’ll have larger and heavier children to carry.”

“Well, I’ll start with this one,” he said, rising easily from his chair without disturbing Sansa. “She’s only a little bit of a girl.”

“Such a kind uncle,” Lady Karstark smiled at him, and he nodded to her before following Catelyn from the Hall.

As soon as they were outside, Catelyn took a deep breath. “Thank the gods, I can breathe!” she said, throwing back her head and gulping in the night air. She looked suddenly as wild as she was beautiful, and Ned had a very strong urge to press his lips to the nicely exposed pale expanse of her throat. He was very grateful that Sansa’s presence in his arms prevented him from doing so.

“It was hot in there,” he said.

“Hot? Oh, I guess so,” she said. “Let’s get her to bed.” She sounded suddenly very resolute about something, and Ned wondered what it was.

They walked the rest of the way to the Great Keep without speaking, and Sansa didn’t even move when he laid her in her bed. “Poor little lady,” he said. “She’ll be bitterly disappointed tomorrow when she realizes she missed lemon cakes and dancing!” 

“Her father would have fed her molasses cake. Of course, you know better.”

“Catelyn . . .”

“Come to the nursery with me,” she said.

“Isn’t Bran in your room?” 

She shook her head. “I kept him with Arya.”

“Only with Arya?”

She pursed her lips together. “I had the bastard’s wetnurse keep him in her room tonight.” She frowned. “Don’t look at me like that. You saw how Lady Karstark is about the children. What if she’d asked to come with me? I wouldn’t have her discover my husband’s bastard sleeping with my son in his cot.”

“Of course not,” he said evenly. He had to admit she had a point. “But I should not . . .”

“You said you would be here for me. Wherever I need you to be.” 

He had said that. He simply nodded and followed her to the nursery. 

Both children were sleeping. But Bran began to root in his sleep when she lifted him from his cot and put him against the bodice of her dress. When she began to undo the laces at the front of her dress, he turned away.

“Don’t you dare leave me here.”

“Catelyn . . .”

“Stand there and watch Arya sleep if you like, but don’t go. Please.”

He couldn’t refuse her. He turned to the larger cot where his daughter, _my niece—she must be my niece,_ slept. It struck him as it often did that Arya was a miracle even in her appearance. She looked terribly like him, but where his face was entirely unremarkable, those same features on her little face were lovely. She would grow to be a beauty just as his sister had. That frightened him at times until he remembered that Catelyn was her mother. Whatever wolf’s blood had come to her from him, Catelyn’s blood would temper it. No daughter of Cat’s would act with the willful disregard Lyanna had shown for herself and everyone else when she’d gone with Rhaegar Targaryen.

They didn’t speak. He could hear the soft suckling noises as Bran fed, and he tried to concentrate on the stray wisp of brown hair that fell over Arya’s left eye rather than the memory of how Catelyn’s nipples felt in his mouth—how they stood up as he teased them with his tongue. 

“Ned?”

He nearly jumped, irrationally fearing she could know his thoughts. “Our daughter is perfect,” he said softly, breaking his own rule not only in his mind, but spoken aloud.

“She is. She’s you.”

He shook his head. “She’s us.”

He kept his eyes firmly on Arya in her cot with his back to Catelyn fearing that looking at her then would destroy years of resolve on his part, so when her voice came again from just behind him, he did jump.

“Ned? He’s finished.”

He turned around and caught his breath. She stood before him with the laces of her dress still undone, her breasts bared to him and even more lovely than he remembered. He could barely breathe.

“Cat . . .”

“Kiss me,” she said. “Please.”

“You’re drunk,” he said, shaking his head slowly, but unable to take his eyes from her breasts except to look at her lips and at her eyes and at her radiant fiery hair. Looking away from her was impossible.

She shook her head. “I’m not nearly drunk enough. I need courage, Ned. Kiss me.”

He didn’t understand her, but he couldn’t refuse her. Not then. He pressed his lips to hers and his arms went around her, crushing her full, soft breasts against him. She moaned into his mouth, and the sound of it went straight to his cock which began to harden rapidly in his breeches. She felt it and pressed herself against him even more tightly. He moved one hand to squeeze one of those perfect breasts, and she made a high-pitched little sound that made him even harder, but it also caused Arya to roll over and murmur in her sleep.

“Oh gods,” Catelyn whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “We cannot do this here.”

Ned could barely think. His breath came in pants, and his cock pressed painfully against the front of his breeches. “We cannot do this anywhere, Cat. We can’t,” he forced himself to say.

“Come with me.” She grabbed his hand and led him to the door. Before he knew what she was about, she opened the door and peered out into the corridor. Apparently seeing no one, she pulled him out into the corridor and into the little room across from the nursery without even closing the front of her dress. She closed the door behind them and latched it.

“Cat, we cannot do this,” he repeated.

“I have to take Brandon into my bed,” she blurted out, and the tears which had threatened in the nursery now spilled onto her cheeks.

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it wasn’t that. He gaped at her stupidly, waiting to see if time would make sense of her words.

“I am his wife,” she said finally. “Nothing can change that. And if I am to be his wife, I must behave like it. I cannot expect him to be any kind of husband to me if I do not. Do you understand that?” The question was almost a sob.

It was nearly the same thing he had said to Brandon earlier, and yet he hated to hear the words coming from Catelyn’s lips. “Yes, Cat,” he forced himself to say. “But he understands you are angry with him. You have a right to be angry with him.”

“Of course, I have a right to be angry with him. And he apparently has a right to bed every whore within a day’s ride of Winterfell while I remain alone in my rooms.” She shook her head. “That cannot continue, Ned. There is talk already, and it will only get worse.”

He only nodded. Her words were true, however much he hated them. 

“But I don’t want to do it,” she whispered.

He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to. He thought of Brandon pushing his cock deep into her maid’s throat and then going on about his need for Barbrey Dustin, and he wanted to tell her she never had to allow him in her bed again. “Your anger will cool in time,” he said instead.

She shook her head. “It’s not anger,” she said. “Don’t you see?”

“You aren’t angry at Brandon?”

“I’m furious with Brandon! But I’ve been furious with Brandon many times over the years of our marriage and I’ve never kept him from my bed over it.” She bit her lip. “It isn’t Brandon at all, Ned. It’s you.”

He looked at her, speechless.

“I love you,” she said.

“And I love you,” he told her, “but we can’t . . .”

“Be together. I know that. I do. For almost three years now, I’ve told myself that our one moment was all we could ever have. That Arya was a gift—not a punishment, and that we couldn’t ask for more. And I shared Brandon’s bed, and I gave him another son, and I told myself that thinking of you was a betrayal of my husband.”

“Cat, I . . .”

“Let me finish! But something happened when Bran was born, Ned. When you held me and kept me in this world with the force of your love for me, something changed.”

“Catelyn, nothing can . . .”

“I changed!” she said, cutting off his protest. “I know it’s wrong. And I know that we cannot be together, but in my heart of hearts, while I still feel guilty over lying to Brandon about Arya, I no longer feel I betray him by loving you. I feel I betray you by being married to him.” She started crying in earnest then, putting her hands to her face with her shoulders shaking.

He could say nothing to that so he simply went to her and put his arms around her once more, raining gentle kisses in her hair and on her forehead until she was still. Then she stepped back enough to turn her tearstained face up to his. “And when I let Brandon touch me tonight . . ." She swallowed. “When I let him . . . fuck me . . . I will feel more wrong than I ever did the one time I let you love me.”

“Oh, Cat,” he told her, feeling a lump in his throat he could barely speak around. “I wish . . . I wish that I could . . .”

“Don’t tell me it’s all right because we both know it isn’t. Don’t tell me it doesn’t hurt you to know that he will have me because I can see that it does. I see everything you feel, Ned. Don’t you know that? And tonight, when we walk out of this room and back into the Great Hall, I will dance with my husband, and I will drink as much wine as I can stomach, and I will take him back into my bed. And I am hurting you right now simply by saying it.”

He couldn’t deny it so he simply looked at her.

“I’m sorry for that. But I need you, Ned. I need to feel your lips on mine and your arms around me. I need to feel your love so I know that it’s real, so that you know my love is real in spite of what I what I’m going to do to it.”

“Catelyn, you aren’t doing anything to me. You are doing what you must, and I will love you until I die because I can’t do otherwise.”

“And you can’t tell me that betraying a love like that isn’t wrong. Were it only Brandon, I would beg you to take me from here—to run wherever we could be together. But it isn’t only Brandon. We have the children to think of. Yours. Mine. And ours. For them, Ned, I will betray this love of ours, and I will never allow myself to speak to you like this again. Because once I make myself Brandon’s wife again in truth, I cannot hold onto you without tearing myself apart with the guilt of how I've betrayed you every time he touches me.”

He nodded rather numbly. “I will go again if that is what it takes for you to do what you must.”

She swallowed. “I don’t know. I thought it would be better to have you in my life in any way I could than to never see you, but now . . . I don’t know. But I do know we cannot stay away from the Hall much longer. So I am being selfish for one last moment. Kiss me, Ned. Let me feel how much you love me even though I cannot truly have you as I would wish. Please, give me your love because as mad as it sounds, it’s the only thing I know that may be strong enough to give me the courage to turn my back on it.” 

He kissed her then, just as she had asked him. He kissed her lips and caressed her as he wanted to do every time he saw her. He didn’t hold back any of his need for her, but let her see and feel how much every fiber of his being wanted her. It had been nearly three years since he’d touched her like this and then they had recklessly given in to what they wanted. They’d foolishly believed they could release all of their love and longing in one moment and put it behind them forever. This time when they finally broke apart, they were still desperate with want for each other. But they knew that giving themselves that release would not make them need each other any less. They would only wake the next morning hating themselves even more for putting those people who were far more precious than themselves at even more risk.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she stood by the door. Then she put a hand to her head. “I suppose I should fix my hair,” she added almost to herself.

He nodded. “You are beautiful as you are. But one of the braids has fallen.”

She laughed. Her dress was properly laced now and other than the slight flush of her cheeks and the hair that had come undone, no one would suspect how rapidly he knew her heart was beating. He knew it because his beat just as rapidly.

“Are you coming back to the Great Hall?” she asked. 

“No. I think this will be easier for both of us if I do not.”

She nodded. “I’ll send Jon and Robb to their rooms together.”

“I’ll check on them later.”

She bit her lip as tears threatened again, but she straightened her shoulders and smiled at him instead. “I love you, Eddard Stark.”

He returned her smile and refused to think on what it cost him. “Courage, my love.” 

Then she was gone.

Ned left a few moments later, and when he lay on his back in his bed with his fist closed tightly around his cock, stroking himself furiously until he spilled onto his belly, only the smallest physical ache was relieved. The ache in his heart and soul went beyond any relief. As he lay there in the dark thinking of Brandon and Catelyn and himself, he honestly couldn’t say who among them had committed the greatest betrayal or if it even mattered anymore. It seemed the three of them were as inextricably tied together as they were destined to tear one another apart, unable to ever stop cutting themselves on each other’s broken pieces.


End file.
